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What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he passed

           Roker,withacomplacentsmile.

           TothisMr.Wellerrepliedwithaneasyandunstudiedclosingofoneeye;whichmightbeconsideredtomean,eitherthathewouldhavethoughtit,orthathewouldnothavethoughtit,orthathehadneverthoughtanythingatallaboutit,astheobserver’simaginationsuggested.Havingexecutedthisfeat,andreopenedhiseye,Mr.WellerproceededtoinquirewhichwastheindividualbedsteadthatMr.Rokerhadsoflatteringlydescribedasanout-and-outertosleepin.

           ‘That’sit,’repliedMr.Roker,pointingtoaveryrustyoneinacorner.‘Itwouldmakeanyonegotosleep,thatbedsteadwould,whethertheywantedtoornot.’

           ‘Ishouldthink,’saidSam,eyeingthepieceoffurnitureinquestionwithalookofexcessivedisgust‘Ishouldthinkpoppieswasnothingtoit.’

           ‘Nothingatall,’saidMr.Roker.

           ‘AndIs’pose,’saidSam,withasidelongglanceathismaster,asiftoseewhethertherewereanysymptomsofhisdeterminationbeingshakenbywhatpassed,‘Is’posetheothergen’l’menassleepshereAREgen’l’men.’

           ‘Nothingbutit,’saidMr.Roker.‘Oneof’emtakeshistwelvepintsofaleaday,andneverleavesoffsmokingevenathismeals.’

           ‘Hemustbeafirst-rater,’saidSam.

           ‘A1,’repliedMr.Roker.

           Nothingdaunted,evenbythisintelligence,Mr.

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